


Newly Refurbished

by Wolver_bean



Category: Cars (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Canon, Prequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 09:05:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16446893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolver_bean/pseuds/Wolver_bean
Summary: “-And the last thing he expected was... Lightning McQueen!” “Y’Know I don’t think anybody expected this!” “The rookie sensation came into the season unknown, but everyone knows him now!”A ghost town and a red racer get their last chance.





	Newly Refurbished

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the 3 varied (and canonically questionable) backstories Pixar has given for McQueen.

_Late summer. 2004._

 

 

There was a fan. Not a good one, just one of those dusty old fans for half open windows. It wasn’t doing much, but at least it was there. Lightning supposed that the sound of the fan high above him was good, because it was keeping him awake, just barely. He blinked with effort, breathing raggedly as he leaned against the tile of the last stall in the men’s bathroom. Everything was too hot. Too teal. Too dirty. What had he been doing?

  
The fan sputtered a loud grinding noise, choking on it’s own filthiness for just a moment.

  
Right. It was qualifying day. For his third race that week. Had he completed his run yet? He hesitated, thinking back- but realized he couldn't recall. The grueling summer months had long since blurred together. He shifted against the wall, too numb to even feel his tires. Lord, this humidity was killing him. His half empty tank roiled again, so he bit his lip and swung into reverse.

  
Lightning caught his reflection in a cracked mirror. The dim fluorescent flickered behind him. If he hadn’t been so exhausted he might have noticed that it was time to replace the duct tape on his right rear flank from a hit last week. It was just a small body panel rip. It would be fixed eventually.

  
Leaving the bathroom, he couldn’t decide if the heat was worse inside or out. He glanced around for a shady spot. Somewhere behind a tent, where no one would bother him. Distinctly, the track surrounding the paddock began echoing with sound as another qualifying run began. Settling into the nearest patch of shade he could find, Lightning remembered promising himself to not throw up again before falling into a fitful sleep…  
A shadow stretched over him.

 

***

 

Sally regretted leaving her belongings. It was bright, and her head pounded, and oh what she wouldn’t give for some tylenol. Her air conditioned apartment, her wine cellar. Why hadn’t she just grabbed some things and put them in her trunk? How many bad decisions could she make in just one day? She jammed her eyes shut against the intense sun, the pale sky, the light earth, resting tenderly on the side of an old two lane road.

  
Just a few more minutes. She could rest for just a few more minutes. The problem was, it had been a few minutes already. It had been 45, now. She tried not to think about it. She didn’t want to think about anything really. Not yesterday, especially. The packed courtroom, the press outside, the camera flashes, the tears, the police sirens, the clatter of chains, the way the victim’s voice cried out, the way the jury sided with her client and she hated it, hated it, microphones, microphones, everyone watching-  
She had to open her eyes. She had to keep going. She should restart her engine (If she even could). She tried not to think about it.

  
She was just… running out of gas. That was all. There hadn't been any smoke, any sharp pain in her cylinders. Just count the cacti. Beat yourself up for not packing tylenol. For not planning to abandon everything-  
Sally broke down on Route 66.

 

***

 

“37th?”

  
Someone was speaking... to him?

  
“37th place? Are you kidding me?”

  
Someone was speaking to him.

 

“What kind of run was that? Hey, are you listening to me? Wake up.”

 

He knew this voice. His wheels scrabbled for purchase beneath him, as if his body recognized the threat before his mind did.

  
“I pay how much in supplies a month and this is how you repay me? By qualifying below 30th place for a whole week straight?”

  
Lightning opened his eyes. It was still afternoon. He had barely slept.

  
“McQueen! What the hell is this? Answer me!”

  
There was someone blocking where the sun had shifted to. It was-

  
“Mr. Hayes?” Lightning’s voice croaked, dehydrated.

  
Lightning remembered the way he’d met his current team owner. It was at the only Piston Cup talent scouting event he’d ever managed to get into in his entire life. Despite the troubles of his youth, Lightning felt he was finally about to make something of himself. Until he’d let a “friendly” competitor check his wheel fastenings, of course. Guess how well that went? His test run lasted about 600 feet. Stupid. The whole thing had been absolutely ridiculous. He’d trusted a stranger and it’d cost him everything! The scouts hadn’t given him a second glance. His turn ended quickly and it had been on to the next... Until Hunter Hayes showed up.

  
After he’d been sabotaged by the competition, he’d been approached by a man whose presence was the definition of discomfort: The kind of car who seemed like they sold parts on the black market (but not the kind who smuggled cocaine… Lightning would know the difference). He remembered Hayes sneering at him as he choked down a storm of embarrassment and terror for his future. What was he going to do now that he’d failed? His savings were gone. After paying the 5,000 dollar entry fee, he had 43 dollars left in his checking account- enough for one tank of gas. He’d been so sure of himself that he’d already quit his shitty job. Where would he go? What would he do?

  
“You'll race for me.” Hayes had said as he offered a contract. “You will.”  
Desperate, Lightning had no choice but to accept, and remained as penniless as he was before he joined the team. But Lightning’s determination was running thin, despite the… complications. He could handle it. It was just a bump in the road of a road full of bumps. And holes.

  
Now, the angry green Silverado glared down at him. The set of his scowl made Lightning’s fuel hoses flip. He stood up, slow, as the man went on.

  
“You had better fix this tomorrow! You don’t get paid unless you make the top 10. Understand?”

  
“Of, of course I-”

 

“You’d better.”

 

Lightning tentatively rolled forward as he watched his sponsor drive away. Something in his posture felt like it was trembling.

  
“Piece of shit car…” he heard the truck mutter from further away.

 

Lightning stayed awake.

 

***

 

Sally dreamt that no one watered her abandoned plants and they withered until they died. Her rent went unpaid and they sold her belongings. Her friends stopped texting her, her linkedin was blacklisted-

 

When she woke up, it was true.

 

***

 

He got to sleep inside the tent that night, which was good. It was still humid and he could hardly catch his breath, but anything was better than six grouchy male cars stuffed into a 2 tier cargo trailer. Even with Mr. Hayes keeping him awake in a tent next to them with the lights on, drinking and muttering to himself. Drinking. Lightning was thirsty. It occurred to him that he hadn’t had breakfast, or lunch, before he realized that oh, he couldn’t, because all Mr. Hayes stocked for fuel was 82 octane, and that it made him sick and it burned in his fuel system early. Fire. Racing away from his engine, towards his tank. Combusting in the heat. Maybe it wasn't as humid or warm as he always felt it was. Lightning shuddered to think that it was just him, suffocating under his own damage.

  
Mr. Hayes said he would be able to buy better fuel for the team if they won more, but how could they win if they felt so horrible? Well Lightning knew he felt horrible- he couldn’t speak for his teammates. They didn’t like him- they cackled in the face of his naivety, side-eyed his strange and upsetting uniqueness. There were no cars like Lightning. Not a single car in the world was like him- not even he knew his Make and Model. He didn’t know what parts he needed if he broke down. No one knew how to fix him. He nearly managed to wonder if this was the reason he had spent the past year accumulating duct tape. If it was why he was the one most negatively affected by the cheap fuel. Possibly, he was just crazy. He didn't know. He did know, to a degree, that he was built for the Cup. He could race for the Piston Cup, and his teammates couldn’t.

  
But he was starting to wonder if he ever would.

 

***

 

The next afternoon, he lost.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Vincent, Sarah, and Fenton.


End file.
